


Totter

by NateFraust



Series: Stranded [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28166319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NateFraust/pseuds/NateFraust
Summary: An anthology inspired by the songs of Ben Howard.I-III: 'The Wolves'
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Series: Stranded [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063427
Kudos: 1





	1. Red Tongues and Hands, pt. I

She felt… limp.  _ Cold _ .

“-sa?  _ Sansa. _ ”

“Oh. Oh,  _ gods _ ,” she whimpered.

“Sansa? What’s happened? You kinda spaced out on me there.”

Choking on the lump in her throat, she turned her watery gaze and stared at Harry’s hawk-beak of a nose. Some of the left side wasn’t as shiny as the right.

How had she not noticed?

“Sansa? Talk to me, dove.”

“I- I have to go.” She hated how small she sounded, hated that she didn’t just bark out a rebuke and leave.

“What? But- but-  _ why _ ?”

“I can’t, I- I- I can’t. I don’t have time for this.”

Harry’s brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing out. “I see.”

Fighting to not cringe at the all too familiar tone in his voice, she reached for his hand. “It’s not- I didn’t mean-”

“No worries.” He sat back, voice blank and sharp. “Well… thanks. I guess.” He began to get up.

“Hare-” she started.

“ _ Don’t. _ ” He flagged down a waiter, paid for their orders, and was out the doors in under five minutes, with naught a backward glance toward her.

Trembling, she leaned down and scooped her cell off the cedar flooring. She drained her glass of Dornish red through clenched teeth, then poured another, ignoring the sight of her home burning in front of her.

* * *

“What. Happened.”

Beth looked like shite, and from the look she gave her, she felt like it, too. “Sans…”

“Tell me.” She looked around the suite, passing over Robb’s bandaged form in an instant. Marg held her gaze for a moment before returning to watching the EKG. Mum shuffled in the recliner for a moment before settling down with a sleep-laden grumble. “ _ Someone, _ ” she hissed.

“The fire seems to have started in the First Keep around three in the morning, milady, during a change in the guard.” Rodrik’s voice was soft and sorrowful. “It... spread, to the armory.”

Turning, she bit hard at her lip and watched Rickon rock back and forth on Marg’s lap, Swallowing down the iron taste of blood, her mind filled in the blanks. “And Theon? Where is he?” At Rodrik’s silence, she turned. “Is he-”

He looked down for a moment before meeting her gaze. “He went back in for your da.”

She managed a simple “oh”, then collapsed into the yawning dark.


	2. Red Tongues and Hands, pt. II

The darkness was nice. Comfortable. Soft.

Wet.

Sansa spluttered and flailed for a moment, the comforter suddenly becoming tighter than a Hyrkoonian mummy’s wrappings, before a sharp pain suddenly shot through her left shoulder. She heard a low whine, then muffled snorts of laughter. “Wha-”

“Here, Nym. I think Her Grace has had ‘quite enough’ of us rabble breaking her beauty sleep.”

Sansa clawed at the comforter until she could shoot a glare at her sister’s smirking face. “What do you want,  _ Lumpy _ ?” she growled - well, more like ‘groaned sleepily’, but she’d never admit that to anyone, least of all herself.

‘Lumpy’ crossed her arms and fixed her with an unimpressed stare. “You, me, and Marg. Road trip. Right now.”

She groaned - there, she admitted it - and rolled over. “G’away. ‘M sleeping.”

She heard Arya huff, then snap her fingers. The comforter began to move under her, and she let out a rather undignified yelp as she scrambled for purchase. Soon enough, she felt the cool hardness of the pine floorboards against her back, and she let her head fall back with a dull  _ thnk _ . Arya popped into the top of her vision, grinning like a shadowcat.

“I hate you.”

Her gaze suddenly shot to the open doorway as a series of short, sharp knocks bounced around the apartment. “Hey, Arry, we doing this thing or not?” Margaery.

Sansa met Arya’s eyes once again, then began to sit up with a groan. “Half an hour.” Arya whooped, pumping her fist in the air, and bounded out of the room, Nymeria nipping at her heels. 

“You’d better have made coffee!” she shouted after them, struggling to her feet and running for the shower.

* * *

“How’s the job search going?”

“Good,” she muttered, watching the sentinels and oaks blur by in the wan noon light. She felt Nymeria licking at the hand not presently cutting through the biting wind, the grey-furred direwolf mewling softly as she did so and sending rumblings through her belly from her position on the elder Stark’s lap. Sansa obliged the old girl with the customary petting she so desired, paying particular care behind the ears and along the base of the neck.

“Just ‘good’?” Margaery tittered softly. “Sans, hon, you do know Wyl’s been blowing up my mobile with her ramblings. Surely Wyman’s sent you some proposals, some estimates.”

“Sure has.” Sansa felt like her stomach was tying itself in knots. Truth be told, Whitpool  _ was _ the best place in the North for those in the fashion industry; she’d be a diddy to not take up the Manderlys’ frankly outrageous sum.

_ But you won’t, will you? _ She grit her teeth at the phantom in her head.  _ You left a good thing and ran, just like always. _

_ Shut it, _ she growled.

“Well, where else did you have in mind? We all know Robb’s hopeless when it comes to anything outside of the business of diplomacy and defense.”

Sansa met Marg’s expectant gaze stonily, then looked away. “I…” She sighed, resting her chin on her right arm and continuing her meaningless vigil. “Nothing, really.”

“Glad that’s settled, then.”

She was half-tempted to stick her tongue out at her old friend, but she resisted, instead reading the road signs directing them toward the Torrenshire exit. “What’s the band’s name again?”

“Totter, I think. Started up in Flintmer about three years back.” Marg caught her eye, corners crinkled. “Thought you might like them.”

Sansa shrugged. “We’ll see.”

* * *

Face flush from another mug of Ben’s 2-moon homebrew ale, Sansa put her hands to her lips and shouted encouragement - or at least she thought she did. The noise in Kennard’s Hole was loud enough to wake Berghton’s lichyards. Feeling someone’s hand on her shoulder, she spun around and laughed at Marg’s rosy cheeks. “These guys are great! Bit of a downer with the lyrics, though, yeah?”

Marg frowned as she sat down at the bar, waving away Eddy when she approached. “You alright? Thought you Starks could handle your drink just fine.” Arya popped up at her shoulder, a mug of hot tea clutched in both hands.

“What? Yeeeah, I’m- ‘m fine. Just-” She yawned for a moment before a belch came out, followed shortly after by a rash of giggles. “Just tired.”

Marg studied her for a moment before gently pushing away the ale. “These guys are just the opening, Sans. Bordlings, remember?”

Sansa squinted at the flatscreen hanging at one of the corner beams of the veranda for a moment. Sure enough, the band listing came up:  _ 5:30 PM - 6:30 PM: Andrew and the Bordlings; 7:00 PM - 8:30 PM: Totter.  _ She checked her watch and groaned.  _ 18:24. _ “Why’d we get here so early?”

Marg, sipping at the hippocras she’d apparently ordered, flashed a knowing smile. “If I recall, a certain someone wanted to- oh, what were the words? Oh, yes, she wanted to, and I quote, ‘wander around his old stomping grounds’. Whoever ‘he’ is.”

Sansa shook her head. “I said noth… noth… no such thing.”

“But you did,” Arya piped up, slurping her beverage.

“Hush, you,” Sansa said, waving at her traitor of a sibling. “And don’t do that!”

“What?” the ruffian asked in the most innocent of tones before taking another swig.

Sansa scowled into her own mug for a moment before draining it, grabbing her purse and wobbling to her feet. “I gots it,” she said, putting a hand out to stop Marg from helping. “You- you just rest, m’kay?”

She could feel their eyes on her, watching, waiting, as she hobbled to the loo.

* * *

They weren’t at the bar when she came back.

Sansa’s gaze swept over the patio frantically, her heart seizing like it was being shocked again and again. Her chest began to ache. 

“Porcelain, ivory, steel,” she muttered, unzipping her purse with shaking hands and rifling around for her Valium. “Porcelain, ivory, steel. Porcelain, ivory, steel.” Her hand closed over the pill baggie, and her heart slowed a beat.

Opening the baggie with some difficulty, Sansa popped the small blue pill into her mouth; swallowing it dry, she scanned the patio once more as she felt the benzo kick in. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and waved to Arya in acknowledgement before starting to make her way over. Cutting through the crowd with a bevy of “Excuse me”’s and “Sorry”’s, she slunk into position by Marg. “What’d I miss?”

“Well,” she half-shouted into Sansa’s ear, “they just finished up with some of their earliest songs, obvs; ‘Three Tree Town’ was good, but ‘Bless the Morn’ was happier. Not the best thing to lead into ‘Fallen Woods’, but-” She shrugged, and was about to continue when Nymeria nipped at her hand. “Hey!  _ Arya _ !”

Sansa glanced back over at her sis. Her eyes rolled back down, and she pointed at the stage. “Something’s happening.”

She followed the directing appendage to the raised dock, where Asha Greyjoy was gripping the mic like it was a serpent’s head. The vocalist’s voice boomed out across the lake, as deep and rich as Arbor Red: “Now, I know we  _ all _ know what’s been said about us Ironborn: ‘heartless’, ‘godless’, ‘barbarians’.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

“But then, the other greenlanders said the same thing about you folk when they came in their ships of steel and wood, aye? And yet, here you stand.”

“Here we stand!” Sansa turned slightly to see Dacey Mormont raise her mug.

“Aye, aye,” Asha said, grinning. “Well, I’d like to let you good folk in on a little secret, my ‘ace in the hole’, if you will.” She let the small swell of laughter wash over her, then whispered into the mic, “None of these songs were written by me.” Holding up her hands as the crowd began to murmur, she shouted, “How _ ever _ , I would like to introduce you to the deadly little fool who got this whole ball rolling. You think he should come on?”

The roar from the mass this time was answered by faint barks and howls off in the distance, which in turn set Nymeria off. Sansa, startled from the sudden noise, stumbled forward as Asha tugged someone in a worn-grey jacket and a beaten, sun-bleached Rhoynar hat into the spotlight from where he was hiding on the bow of the houseboat. “Everyone, meet Rig Ellyson.”

The crowd let out a muted cheer; Rig looked up and over them all - then froze, gaze locked on Sansa’s.

She could never have forgotten those eyes, those irises as bright as the summer sea and that gaze of longing loneliness.

Nymeria growled, a low timber in harmony with her owner’s.

“Sansa…” Marg murmured.

She turned and ran. Just like always.


	3. Red Tongues and Hands, pt. III

_ Why’d she call me that? She knows he doesn’t like it when she calls him that. _

Theon groaned, nails digging into his cheeks as pinpricks of pain sparked through his system. He bit down to stop the shakes, to stop the words, tasting iron. He pulled the bin closer and spat, just as the cabin resounded with a  _ bbmmmph _ . He watched pink-ish phlegm roll slowly down the liner as the footsteps approached, then came to a stop.

“You look like shite.”

Forcing his head up, he glared at Asha through bleary eyes. “Fuck. Off.”

She smirked. “Ah, there’s the shithead I brought. What, didja lose your balls on top of your voice?”

“ _ Fuck off _ ,” he growled, throwing a punch at her stupid face. She slipped to the side, laughing softly, then whapped him across the head with her ringless hand before he could put an arm up. “ _ Fuck off! _ ”

He could feel her next to his ear when she whispered, “Make me, gobdaw.”

He whirled around, flinging fists at wherever would do the most hurt; Asha weaved through them all, her face the picture of utter boredom, before grabbing an arm, slipping under the other, and kicking a leg out from under him. He bit back a curse at the sudden wrench of pain, keeping quiet even as his eyes began to water at the feeling of near-dislocation in his shoulder.

“You up and left me with the fucking bag, ‘ _ Rig _ ’.” Asha murmured, holding him ever so lightly. “Made  _ me _ look like a right eejit, and for what? ‘Cause you couldn’t handle seeing your little crush all grown up and happy without your dopey arse?”

“That’s not- you don’t know-”

“What? I don’t know  _ what _ , Thee?” She yanked his hair back, dark eyes alight with a long-held fury. “I don’t know the shite you got up to with that gombeen Snow? I don’t know how you’ve been skimming off what little I bring in so you can laze about in  _ my _ flat, with what little dreamwine you can filch off Three-Tooth stinking up my  _ guest _ room while you sit and play on your little computer - a computer  _ I _ bought you, for fucking work?!” She scoffed, then threw him forward; he barely caught himself in time to not faceplant into the flooring. “If you can’t nut up, then  _ you _ can fuck off. It’s not as though  _ they _ won’t welcome you back, open arms or not.”

A howl drifted faintly through the crack in the window - or at least, he thought so.  _ It’s getting colder _ , he thought - and shivered.

* * *

“And you know this with certainty?”

The late morning light had filtered through the Warrior’s side of the window, throwing a gilt sheen upon the pots of frostfires and coldsnaps near the door; they looked as though they were dusted in the stuff. “I-” Sansa sighed, looking Chayle in the eye. “No. No, I don’t.”

The young septon jotted something down, then looked back up at her. “No fainting spells, right?”

She opened her mouth, hesitated, then slowly shook her head. “No. Or- well, I- I don’t think I have.”

He leveled a look at her. “Miss Tyrell said she and Miss Arya had to carry you back to her car after the concert. She also said, and I quote, ‘she collapsed as soon as we caught up with her’.”

Sansa shrugged, gave as nonchalant of a laugh as she could. “Must’ve had too much to drink, huh?”

“Yes, well, seems to be something you and the late Master Greyjoy have in common, among other things.”

She bristled at the brazen challenge in his words. “Like what?”

Chayle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I mean no offense, Miss Sansa-”

“Fat chance of that,” she bit out.

“-but you and he were… close when you were younger, correct?”

“You know he was with Robb, pretty much  _ all _ the time,” Sansa snapped, waving the question away like it was a particularly bothersome gnat.

“And when he wasn’t, he was first with you, then the boys, then Arya, then Master Jon.” It was a rather flat declaration - and one that they both knew was true.

She looked to the flowers again, her stomach twisting.

“You would’ve known him the best out of all of your siblings - perhaps even better than Robb.”

“No.” Her voice was a whisper.

“No?”

“ _ No _ ,” she repeated, louder this time, “because if I did, then why didn’t I-” 

She sucked in a breath, tried again. “Why didn’t I- why didn’t I- fuck, why didn’t I  _ stop _ him? Why didn’t someone fucking  _ do _ something,  _ anything _ , to stop him?!”

The septon’s eyes were softer when she met his gaze again. “He asked me something similar some weeks after your father came back from Kingsport - without you.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flush. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Chayle glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today.” He escorted her to the office door. “Some advice, though.”

Sansa paused, door half-opened.

“I’ve often found that the gods bring things about in the most mysterious of ways for the benefit of all, and that the best way to ascertain what is to come is to… well,  _ pray _ .”

She looked back at him through the glimmer of unshed tears, and managed a small smile.

* * *

The prod was hot, and it was hard.

R jerked away, eyes flinging up into that familiar darkness, searching for Master, searching for his other half.

“Hey. You alright, man?”

His eyes flitted to the other man in the car - and he saw Cley pulling his stump of a hand back. R swallowed, blinked-

The driver’s hair shone blue-green in the light from the street lamps.

He felt his body relaxing, felt himself falling-

Theon nodded, giving the Tyroshi cabbie a tired smile, and forked over the requisite two stags. The driver looked them over, held each up to the light under the rearview mirror, then flashed a gold-toothed grin at him. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

He returned the smile and slowly exited the cab, grimacing as muted pain shot through his joints. Lifting his eyes to the walls off in the distance, Theon took in a breath and started walking.

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6I44Tiz0BraVVi6AyXJvSf?si=ZeUPt55DTLaTntNXld-bww


End file.
